A Fight For All Worlds
by Wandering7Doctors
Summary: Taking place before Season 9 of Supernatural, Day of the Doctor, Season 3 of Sherlock, and Season 4 of the Walking Dead Superwhodeadlock An Angel, An Impossible Girl, A Consultant Detective, and a lone crossbow hunter must unite to save everything. As seen on my Tumblr, Texts from the Cinemas. Enjoy
1. Castiel

"So you're Castiel,"

The former angel was silent, sitting patiently on a bed in a motel, watching television. He paid no attention to the stranger in an all-black suit. The stranger had a smile that could belong to a car salesman due to the detached empathy but clear desire to get something out of a person.

"Are you here to kill me?" Castiel said in his monotone raspy tone.

"Why would I wish that," The stranger said with mock surprise. "From your meddling in purgatory, your direct involvement in stopping the apocalypse, the fact you tried to become a god, or maybe because you are still insipidly loyal to the Winchesters, the very humans who've caused you no end of suffering from you helping them."

"Take your pick," Castiel said lazily. "You wouldn't have to do much."

"No, I wouldn't," the stranger said as he sat on the bed watching the television with the angel. "Not with you being mortal."

Castiel twitched, an ocean's worth of anguish, at the reminder of how he was used in a massive sabotage. Angels were depowered, and Castiel spent his days waiting. Waiting either for revenge for half the things he'd done or possibly the chance to do something right.

"It's the latter actually," the stranger said. "I'm here to get you back in the fight."

"Can I trust someone who can read my mind?"

"Who knows," the stranger shrugged. "But since I can read your thoughts, there's no denying how badly you begged, even prayed, for the chance I'm about to give you."

Castiel turned to face the stranger. His face was blank but the eyes carried a spark of determination rekindled. The stranger smiled at the sight.

"There's a danger coming."

"To this world?"

"To all worlds," the stranger said with outstretched arms. "Every realm, every earth, in every dimension. It has fallen to the people like me, the people behind the curtains, to put together a group who can eliminate the threat at the source. You will be the mystical expert; you're relationship of being estranged from and mastering all things supernatural makes you a top candidate."

"What about the Winchesters, or the other angels?"

"Like I said," the stranger stated as he stood. "This a threat to all worlds. And despite your childish fascination with them, the Winchester brothers are not capable of facing this threat. It's 'above their pay grade' as Dean would say. It has to be you."

"I'm mortal, I cannot do more than any other human now."

"That's the best part," the stranger said. "I can use my influence to return to you a moderate amount of your angelic abilities. And of course I have another incentive."

"What?"

"The chance to reopen Heaven," the stranger said. "If you agree, come with me, convince the others in your group to be, save the worlds, and you shall have your redemption."

The stranger offered a hand to seal the agreement. Castiel looked at it, seeing the chance to do something good but remembering all the times he'd been used. But Castiel's greatest blessing and curse was how trusting he was.

He grabbed the hand. As soon he touched the stranger, his power returned, pulsing through his host body with the weight of a moon being squeezed into his body. He staggered, but recovered, confident with the belief that these powers could do great things in his hands.

"I need my coat before we go."

The stranger smiled as Castiel came back with his iconic coat and stern presence. He gestured towards the door which opened to a doorway of light. The two walked together, into the light, into the unknown.


	2. Clara

Clara was in the kitchen, attempting to make a proper soufflé, when a woman appeared in an all-black suit. The woman literally seemed to appear out of nowhere, smiling. Clara yelped, dropping the bowl, but not backing away. She was as curious as she was afraid.

"Clara Oswin Oswald," the female stranger said with a bow. "It's an honor to meet you."

"Well," Clara said with strained confidence. "It's always nice to be honored, not sure what for though."

Clara didn't like this; while most people would treat the arrival of a total stranger as a proper time to scream and call the police, she stood her ground, thinking that there was more going on. Traveling through space and time can do that.

"Exactly," the woman said. "You've traveled with the Doctor, one of the greatest explorers in existence. Any companion of the Doctor is worthy of praise."

"Why come to me, then?" Clara asked as she started realize this woman could read her thoughts. "The man in the blue box is probably what you're looking for. Good luck finding him, though."

"If we wanted the Doctor, we'd be speaking to the Doctor," the woman said sternly, clearly not wishing to waste time. "We chose you."

"You keep mentioning 'We'," Clara said while looking about the kitchen. "Where's the 'We' coming from?"

Before the woman answered, a blinding light flashed from the kitchen window and backdoor. Clara tried backing away from the glow but it so intense that it burned beneath her eyelids, there was no escape.

"Right on schedule," the woman said, looking at the light without any sign of discomfort.

Clara was able to make out the sight of the back of the house opening but she couldn't make out any sign of the neighborhood. All she saw was the shadowy shape of two people walking towards the door, and growing in detail and size. One was a man in similar black suit to the woman's. The other one however, even though he wore a suit, also wore a trench coat for some reason and had a face that seemed to never smile.

The light diminished once they were fully inside the kitchen.

"Gary," the woman said happily. "I'm glad to see Castiel has cooperated."

"Thank you, Mary," the man in the black suit said with an equally off smile. "And how are you faring with Miss Clara."

"She can speak for herself, thank you very much," Clara snapped.

Unfortunately the black suited stooges weren't put off by her attitude, or the idea of being called 'stooges' since they were reading her every thought. How does one silence their mind?"

"Save the philosophy for another time, Miss Clara," Gary said. "You wish to speak for yourself, please introduce yourself to your teammate."

Clara glared at Gary then looked at the other man, the one called Castiel. What she had mistaken for an emotionless man was something quite different. There was a voiceless determination in those eyes that said more than would ever need to be said. An ancient soul, like a certain Doctor she knew.

Gary and Mary seemed to smile at her thoughts. Clara decided to go over and stop them speaking for her. Castiel seemed to be as curious as her as to how this might go.

"My name's Clara," She stated proudly. "I'm the Doctor's companion."

It wasn't something she said every day, if ever, but she felt it was important. Castiel seemed to respect this.

"Castiel," he said in a voice as dry as sandpaper. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Clara hated how out of her element she was. She had seen aliens the size of planets, bizarre monsters, and had saved the universes greatest protector at the risk of being scattered through time and space. She wasn't skeptical about there being an afterlife but it rarely showed up in your kitchen. She couldn't help looking over Castiel's shoulders, trying to see if there were wings. This seemed to annoy him.

"I have wings," Castiel said "But they're impossible for your limited human mind to see."

Clara didn't like how he phrased that.

"Sorry," Castiel said as he awkwardly tried to find the right words. "That was… rude."

"A bit."

"I'm not used to introducing myself to strangers. It had nothing to do with your intelligence, humans can't see them at all."

"Better," Clara said. "But you're going to have to work on how you say things."

"Understood, mame."

"Clara."

"Very well, Clara."

Castiel was a strange one even by her standard of strange, but she could see he was trying. Maybe Heaven didn't give angels a chance to be social. She promised to work to be on her best behavior as well: they were clearly both out of their element.

"Excellent," Mary said clasping her hands together. "They're bonding. This mission shall go along splendidly."

"Before we start popping the champagne, I'd like some answers," Clara said. "What exactly is this team that needs an angel, what do you expect me to do, and who exactly are you two?"

Gary and Mary seemed to smile at this, like they did everything, which enraged Clara to no end. But they also appeared to be the types who love to talk, also like a certain Doctor. But at least the Doctor was mildly amusing.

"Being as direct as possible works for you doesn't it, Clara," Gary said. "I'll let Mary explain this, after all she was chosen to meet you."

Clara turned to Mary, not really happy to deal with either. Castiel seemed to play along and he gave off the vibe of person who it would be a mistake to cross. Until the Doctor arrived to make things right, Clara decided to play along as well.

"The worlds are coming to an end," Mary said happily. "Everything that exists is in danger. But there's now a solution; you, Castiel and two others are going to save us all. We chose Castiel because he knows a thing or two about facing surreal odds."

"And me?" Clare said with crossed arms.

"You're the impossible girl," Mary said. "You've died a thousand times and were born a thousand times still. Such a thing should have obliterated you, but you remain whole. It's a very interesting impossible possibility. I look forward to seeing what you can accomplish. Like Castiel we have something you can consider proper compensation."

Mary walked over and leaned next to Clara's ear and said the words that she could never say no to.

"We can save the Doctor," she whispered. "We know he'll die, and we know how to save him."

"He regenerates." Clara said halfheartedly.

"Not from what's coming," Mary said. "But we know many things, among them is the knowledge to save the Doctor. Knowledge that would be wasted if all existence were eliminated. Help us to help you, Clara."

The way Mary said her name sounded poisonous to Clara's ear. But the words, the chance to save the Doctor, was chance she'd go to Hell and back to achieve. Something that'd probably be unwise to say in front of an angel.

"I'm in," Clara said. "So what do we do now?"

"Haven't you been counting?" Gary said as the light returned. "We're two short. It's time to acquire the third, but this one won't be as willing."

"In what way?" Castiel said.

"Because we're about to spoil the detective's view of how things really work." Gary said with a grin.

And with that the four entered the light and went to another plane of existence.


	3. Sherlock

Rain, such a trifling thing, the way it reflects the mood while bombarding the world. These were the thoughts that ran through the mind of Sherlock Holmes. The former consultant detective, now blacklisted the world over, called a fraud and accepted as one because people prefer a believable lie to an improbable truth.

He was also dead to the world, the last stake in Moriarty's coffin designed to kill both Holmes and his career. Being Holmes, however, he survived but to protect the people he cared about, the world needed Holmes to be dead.

What truly bothered him was not the loneliness, nor the betrayal to those he cared for. It was the boredom. His apartment was littered with everything from crossword puzzles, rubrics cubes, and walls shredded with chalk marks of varying equations all to keep his mind from tearing itself apart. A single word repeated along the walls. Moriarty.

How to come back to a world that'd rather see him dead?

A blast of light, blinding, seeming to come from all corners of the room even though there was only a small window for company. A solar flare: impossible. A flash grenade: not so large a blast radius. A brat with a tazer playing with the breaker box: now he was just guessing.

Once the light settled down, the reality wasn't as reasonable. Four people stood in his cupboard of an apartment room. Two wore black suits with a faces too pristine, too perfectly sculpted, but lacking any sign of surgical enhancement. A man in a shabbily-held-together suit and an unneeded trench coat: he seemed to be looking at two people at once with the person clearly wishing for the one choosing the trench coat to be dominant. The girl in the red blouse, blue skirt, leggings, and green sneakers looked more like nanny due to the dried cooking batter under her fingers but no ring. Four contradictory people, who hadn't even used the door that creaked loud enough for a deaf man to hear. There was only one thing to say.

"Tell me something interesting in two minutes or get out of my cupboard."

The girl, clearly the most impatient from the look in her eye, was the first to speak.

"Not to be judgmental," she said while eyeing the equations. "But is there someone more… stable we could talk to?"

Holmes felt his pulse quicken, he was being challenged. A small smile spread over his face. It was time to scratch a long overdue itch.

"Lack of mud on your shoes implies you somehow traveled into my cupboard past a good 20 miles of mud. Also, considering the fact that it is Fall and you're dressed for Spring with no lines under your eyes to dull your concern for appearance, you consciously chose to wear clothes out of season."

A little rough but the details were strong. A warm tingle went through him. It felt good to deduct again, almost as strong as the nicotine patches.

"Wow," the girl said. "A regular Sherlock Holmes, this one."

Sherlock practically doubled over with laughter.

"Funny you should mention that, Clara." the man in the all black suit said.

The girl, Clara, looked at the man than at Sherlock. She looked as though she were questioning a paradox of her own.

"You've got to be kidding me," Clara said. "Do you expect me to believe that this is actually Sherlock Holmes? He's a fictional character."

Fictional character, Sherlock thought to himself. Wonderful, eight months dead and he was now considered a work of fiction, drinking at the pub with Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny, splendid.

Clara wasn't being corrected, so it seemed that others were a tad more competent.

"We're in another dimension, Clara," the man in the trench coat said. "I'm an angel, and you're a time traveler. It makes sense to believe that in this dimension, Sherlock Holmes is a real person."

Perhaps competency was a stretch. Sherlock suspected these people to be drug addicts, the smiling black suited figures looked like proper dealers. It still didn't explain how dry they were here though, and none of them looked like recent tenants due to the lack of dust courtesy of the apartment he stayed in. So many irritating complications.

"Perhaps I can explain things, Mr. Holmes," the man in black said. "My name is Gary, this is Mary, you've been bothered by Clara and this man in the trench coat is Castiel."

"And what would an angel and time traveler want with me?"

Sherlock couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"To save their world, your world, everyone's world from certain doom," Mary said. "You are, according to your thoughts, in need of employment."

Brilliant, Sherlock thought, angels, time travelers, and mind readers. All we needed was a cowardly lion and we'd have the whole set.

"We were thinking of something less extravagant to complete this team." Mary said, fulfilling her assumed telepathic abilities.

"A team?" Sherlock said. "Wonderful, what are we doing? Stopping the legion of doom from melting the polar icecaps?"

"There's no legion of doom." Gary corrected.

"Too bad, I know a perfect candidate to join their group."

"Moriarty." Gary and Mary said in unison.

Sherlock stood still. Moriarty was considered a ghost, a ghost he made up. But these two talked about the consultant criminal as though they still believed.

"Better than believe, Sherlock," Mary said. "We know the truth. We know of a loose thread that exposes Moriarty and clears your once audacious name. If you help us, this information shall be yours."

"Wait," Clara said. "Now Moriarty is real too?"

Sherlock put his back to the four and concentrated. This wasn't a trick by Moriarty, he was insane but at least his tricks were sensible. Nothing about the group said they were lying and their ability to guess his thoughts was extraordinary. He had worked hard to conceal any chance to be read via body language or emotion, a thing that gave John no end of trouble. John…

"We know you're certain Moriarty's assassins are prepped to kill your comrades if you even admit to the idea of being brought back from the grave. That beard and wig may fool the world Sherlock, but your mind is far too bright to hide." Gary said happily.

It was at his words that Sherlock remembered that he was wearing an orange beard and wig, even carried a limp in his step with a convincing cough to keep people at bay. Yet these two suited strangers could see him so clearly. For all he knew this was a clever ruse to delay him from realizing he was exposed.

"No ruse," Mary said. "Only facts. If you help Clara and Castiel save the world we'll give you the information that will set you and your friends free. At the very least, aren't you curious where this will go?"

Curiosity, his greatest Achilles heel. Always curious, always needing more answers to keep his parasitic mind in check. Such a strange opportunity to fulfill his curiosity was too much for Sherlock.

He spun about removing the wig and beard, finding his limp leg healed and with renewed strength. Sherlock Holmes was back.

"I still don't see it." Clara said.

"Maybe if he puts on a deerstalker cap?" Castiel suggested.

"No hat," Sherlock said. "Just me, and stick around you two, I'll convince you yet. At least as long as this mystery keeps me interested."

Gary and Mary smiled and the light returned.

"Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Holmes." Gary said.

They were gone a moment later, off to find the final teammate.


	4. Daryl

Daryl's hunts for food were a mixed blessing. It allowed him to not have to be strong all the time as Rick's right-hand man for the sake of the group. The problem was that he was forced to deal with what was eating him up inside.

Merle…

The way he went, what Daryl had to do, and living with it every day since was more brutal than anything else in his life. He wondered sometimes if the Walkers had it easier: no pain or remorse to bother them. These were the kinds of thoughts that were only safe outside the Prison, when he was alone. Hunting at least kept his mind alert enough to not let depression swallow him whole. It was good to keep busy when everything else in you wanted to die.

When the blinding light arrived, it seemed to come from everywhere, like God himself had finally decided it was Daryl's time. He went down on one knee, his ringing from the disorienting rays, but his hands never let go of the crossbow for an instant. At last the light vanished as quickly as it came.

When his ears had stopped ringing from the light banging about in mind, Daryl heard voices nearby.

"And now it's Summer," a man's voice said. "I have to hand it to those two suits, I've never experienced a hallucinogen so potent."

"How long are we going to put with you deciding this is all an illusion?" A woman said.

"Are you planning on shutting up anytime soon, Clara?"

"No." The woman, apparently Clara, said irritably.

"Then assume I'll be a skeptic so long as you remain annoying. That should mean we'll stop around the time Hell freezes over. That's got to be nice for you, Castiel, being an angel and all."

"Hardly," a gruff voice, Castiel said. "There needs to be a balance. I've come to understand that, Sherlock, but there seems to be something more important for you to notice."

Daryl slowly crept towards the three people, staying low to the ground while he assessed the situation. Strangers this close to the Prison might belong to the Governor, but they didn't sound like it. He stood behind a bank of trees that gave him a good look at the three. He saw a man in a black trench coat moving about the place mumbling out characteristics. The sound of his voice made it clear that this was Sherlock (like the detective from those books), which made the girl glaring at Sherlock Clara and the man standing like a mannequin in a light trench coat Castiel. Daryl had just identified them when Sherlock stood tall.

"Gary and Mary are gone." Sherlock said.

"Took you five whole minutes to come to that conclusion?" Clara said.

"I have more than that," Sherlock snapped. "Judging from the grass, the trees, and the angle of the sun we're no longer in England. In fact we're i-"

"In Atlanta," Castiel blurted out. "Three miles south of a prison complex still in use. Strange, there don't seem to be that many people in this world."

Sherlock glared at Castiel, who was unfazed by the rage.

"Sorry," Castiel said. "You were taking too long."

Sherlock hunched his shoulders, clearly wishing to have the last word. Daryl didn't like the way Sherlock turned his head towards the direction Daryl was hiding. How could he know he was there?

"Are you just going to keep gawking at us?" Sherlock said.

Daryl aimed the crossbow at Sherlock, not wanting to take any chances.

"I'd drop the weapon if I were you."

Daryl turned his head to see that Castiel had managed to stand next him, he looked back at the field to realize that Castiel had managed to move several hundred feet in seconds. He had two fingers pointed at his head as though they were the deadliest things in the world. The look in Castiel's eyes convinced him that losing the bow might be a good idea.

Daryl was walked into the open area of the forest where the other stood, Castiel walking right behind him, holding his crossbow.

"Alright," Daryl said with shrug. "You caught me. Mind if I ask what y'all are doing out here and how the Hell you look so clean?"

It was true, there was not a speck of grim or dirt that stained even the cleanest person during all this madness. In fact, they didn't even look they were fazed by any of the madness. It was like they had just popped onto Earth at the wrong time.

"I believe I have the answer," Sherlock said while Clara rolled her eyes. "Castiel, you said no one else is around here besides our huntsman, correct?"

"Yes." Castiel said.

"Well then it's obvious," Sherlock said, "Apparently he's our fourth man."

"Excuse me," Daryl said. "But I don't really know any of you and I sure as Hell don't feel like joining any group that takes me hostage."

"But the look in your eyes says that being at gunpoint is not unfamiliar to you."

Daryl narrowed his eyes.

Sherlock was more than willing to explain.

"Judging from the amount of accumulated grime on your body, you've been without proper cleaning supplies in about a little over a year. You've worn the same clothes in that time, probably one of the few you actually still own otherwise you would have at least changed shirts. And your hands, your wonderfully scarred hands, they show you as being quite handy with that crossbow. The marks on your still healing fingers shows that you were desperate to reload arrows, meaning that whatever you've been firing at scares you more than you scare it. What would frighten a veteran survivalist like yourself?"

"Are you for real?" Daryl asked while looking at all three of the strangers. "You really have no clue what's going on?"

"No," Clara asked. "What's going on?"

Daryl shook his, he had really wrap his mind around this.

"Well, most people throw around the idea of this bein' the end of the world. All of us just waiting to be Walkers."

"Walkers," Clara asked. "What's a 'Walker'?"

Daryl really wondered what the Hell was going on. He was about to go into a giant rant when, disturbingly, the answer came.

They must have heard all the complaining. Even though the sun was out, they hiding in the shadows, nothing but blurred shadows until it was too late. Then they came into the clearing.

Clara was the second person to notice them, causing her to scream. This excited them, and brought who knows how many more to this spot. Walkers, twenty of them, all rotted and gaunt from disease and decay, they shambled towards them with vicious tenacity.

"I'm going to need my crossbow back." Daryl said.

Castiel complied surprisingly quickly, however he didn't make an effort to prepare to run or fight. The smart move would be to run, but the Walkers had them surrounded. It was going to be a fight. Sherlock rushed over to a tree and picked up a sturdy branch from the ground while backing away from the gnashing teeth of the Walkers. Clara seemed to stand her ground as best as she could, but she was still unarmed. Daryl handed her his knife which she reluctantly accepted.

"Zombies," Sherlock said with a grin. "This delusion just got more interesting."

The zombies came in one slow wave. Daryl fired arrow after arrow into the heads of the Walkers. He cursed out loud when he had to reload. Sherlock stepped in and swung the branch to keep them at bay. He smashed two in the face and they fell to the ground.

"Aim for the head," Sherlock commented as he pushed the Walkers back. "At least this world follows some of those insipid rules of Horror movies."

Daryl looked up at Sherlock, what the Hell did he mean? He was almost too distracted to notice the two Walker's rushing Sherlock from the sides, Daryl managed to hit one but the other was too close to Sherlock.

Clara charged at the Walker, stabbing it in the side. She was terrified by what she'd done and by the fact that the Walker was unfazed as it reached for her. She pulled the knife out and stuck it into the creature's head, screaming as she did this. The Walker fell to the ground dead and Clara trembled, seeing the black blood on the knife. She wasn't unused to combat, but it was clearly difficult to face something so human and inhuman at the same time. Daryl finally noticed Castiel, still standing around.

"Help us!" Daryl shouted.

Castiel looked at Daryl then at the remaining Walkers that were slowly closing in on them. A light radiated from Castiel's body, different from the blinding light Daryl saw before. Castiel raised his right hand, the light concentrating in his palm, before being unleashed in a blast of white light.

When Daryl managed to see again, all the Walkers were on the ground, dead. He had to look at it all for five minutes to really appreciate what he'd seen. Sherlock inspected them more closely, making sure not to touch the nails or teeth. Clara was shaking, Daryl helped her up and did his best to calm her down. It wasn't easy having to fight these kinds of things, especially when your own experience was your own personal nightmare.

"Why didn't you do that light thing when they first arrived?" Daryl asked Castiel.

"We were being tested," Castiel said. "It seemed fair to see how we worked together."

"How right you are, Castiel."

Daryl turned his head with the rest of the group as a man and woman both in all black suits appeared from behind two trees. While the rest of the group gawked at the strangers, Daryl aimed his crossbow.

"You're the freaks that set the Walkers on us?" Daryl snarled.

"It was perfectly reasonable to do so, Daryl Dixon," the man said. "How else were we supposed to find out if we made the right selections?"

Daryl, who didn't like the idea of being anyone's pawn, fired.

The man grabbed the arrow before Daryl could blink.

"That was rude, Gary." the woman said.

"You're right, Mary," Gary said as tossed the arrow aside. "It was just a reflex. Please, try again."

Daryl didn't hesitate as he fired another arrow that shattered off of Gary's head.

"Impressive," Gary commented as he poked the spot where the arrow had hit. "I almost felt something tickle. It's a shame you lack the weaponry to deal with us."

"What exactly are you?" Daryl asked as he held up the ineffective bow.

"Your new employers," Mary said. "We'd like you to help these three people with you save all the worlds in existence. You are after all an expert in survival of all kinds."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"If you don't believe us, believe what you saw," Gary said. "You fought alongside a time traveler, Sherlock Holmes, and an angel who you owe a debt of gratitude to."

Daryl looked at the three people beside him. He wasn't religious, but Castiel definitely had some kind of godlike power. The idea of Clara being a time traveler seemed odd because he couldn't imagine a past or future in this world. And then there was Sherlock…

"Let me guess," Sherlock muttered. "I'm fictional in your world as well? Wonderful, absolutely wonderful."

"You're really Sherlock Holmes?"

"The one and only." Sherlock said with a bow.

"Okay," Daryl said as he faced Gary and Mary. "Say I believe you. Why would I bother to come along on this 'quest to save the world'?"

"And here we go." Sherlock groaned.

"What Mr. Holmes means is that we've offered something to each of your companions for their services." Mary said.

"And we have an offer just for you," Gary said. "We have the means to end this Walker nightmare, we know of a cure."

"There's no cure," Daryl said. "A guy in a lab blew up proving that to us."

"There is a cure," Gary said. "Wouldn't the chance to spare Carol, Carl, Rick, Glen, Maggie, Beth, Michonne, Hershel, and all the hapless people of Woodbury from suffering your brother's fate be enough of a motivator?'

"Don't you dare talk about my brother!" Daryl snapped as he aimed the crossbow.

Gary sighed and said, "I'll tell you one thing. Unlike you, your brother wasn't afraid to risk his life for those he cared about."

Gary's words were almost too much for Daryl to handle. But the worst part was Gary was telling the truth. What good was scavenging for scraps going to do? They needed a better solution if they expected to survive. After seeing Castiel, Daryl was willing to believe in a chance for things to get better."

"I'm in," Daryl said. "But you better pray I don't find the means to fight you."

Gary and Mary grinned at this, as though it were a joke. The light returned and swallowed them whole. The group was assembled and the quest was about to begin.


	5. Know Your Enemy

**Chapter 5**

The group had arrived at a strange looking room. It looked like a lounge with couches and table. Everything from the walls, floors, and the furniture was a bright shade of silver that shined in the overhead light. It was the cleanest room any of them had ever seen: no single speck of dust anywhere. Gary and Mary had vanished once again, making the room feel even more foreign.

They each handled it their own way.

Sherlock sat on one of the couches, his eyes searching the room frantically to the point that his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his skull.

Clara sat in the opposite couch, as far from Sherlock as possible, and waited until someone came to show them the next step.

Daryl walked around the room, crouching next to the furniture, leaning against the walls, and practicing to be able to shoot from every angle.

Castiel stood in a corner of the room apparently motionless.

"Aren't you going to look around?" Daryl asked Castiel.

"I am looking." Castiel said.

"At what?" Daryl asked.

"Everything." Castiel said curtly.

"Not necessary," Sherlock said. "I've studied every detail of this room, it seems to be fashioned out of a prison-cell used for solitary confinement."

"So we're in a prison." Clara concluded.

"A prison poorly constructed to not look like a prison but a prison none the less. A prison not made with human sentiment either."

"What makes you say that?" Clara asked.

Sherlock looked at Clara, narrowing his eyes.

"You tell me." He challenged.

Clara looked around the room, annoyed at how the others looked at her as well. To simply say that there was no way out was too obvious and what Sherlock was probably hoping to hear so that he could correct her. Clara enjoyed the chance to show how clever she was.

"Humans put in windows and doors to come in and out. They let both prisoner and warden feel like they have control. Take away the windows and doors, you're deliberately trying to rob us of control. Trying to take on more control means they're power hungry. Anything else you'd like to add, Sherlock?"

The question had the intended effect of a boxer swinging at the ribs before a vicious uppercut. Sherlock did a strong job to conceal his irritability. The strained lack of emotion proved to show more than Sherlock would have wanted.

"There's probably some form of security on us." Sherlock stated offhandedly.

"Of course," Clara said. "I didn't think that needed to be mentioned though."

Sherlock scoffed the comment and muttered how he thought there was something curious about a certain wall, away from Clara. Castiel remained stoic, not showing the uncertainty growing in his mind despite all his powers. Daryl looked around, trying to find any obvious surveillance, and grinned at the idea of simply dropping his pants to give these suited freaks something worthwhile to survey. Clara sat patiently, relishing her small victory while a much larger problem remained.

"We need to talk," Clara said. "All of us."

"And do what," Sherlock said. "Get in a circle and play duck-duck-goose?"

"I'm with Sherlock on this one," Daryl said. "No offense miss or any y'all but I'm not much of a team player even among my group."

"That seems to be a common trend with us," Castiel added. "We stand with others but always alone."

"Exactly," Clara said, "I get you guys are all the lone-wolf types. I travel with a Doctor whose the same way, even reminds me of you a bit, Sherlock. So very introvert."

"Speed up your prattle if there's a point." Sherlock snapped.

"My point is that none of us can afford to play it solo at this point," Clara said as she looked at all of her teammates. "Call me a liar if any of you actually feel like you know what you're doing?"

For once, none of them opposed her. She waited a moment, making sure she wouldn't be interrupted, before speaking again.

"I'm not asking for your life stories, but we might as well understand each other a little better. After all, unless you think Gary and Mary are reliable, we're all we got."

This convinced the group to at least sit but they didn't promise it'd do any good. Clara knew it'd be a start.

It was slow at first, painfully awkward would the lightest term for it, but it got easier once they started to talk. Sometimes about how angry they were to be tricked into coming, other times about what exactly Gary or Mary could be because it sure wasn't human. Anger seemed to be stress release for the group, and right now they were all feeling a little angry at the realization that they had agreed to go along with people who had no real reason to deliver on what they promised. They had been beamed away from any of their usual means of fighting back. That only left them with one option.

Each of them looked the other in eyes, not sure who they were, but willing to have allies in a desperate situation. Now they did want to know each other.

A friend in a battlefield is simply an enemy with a common foe.

And so they got to know each other.

An Angel who sought redemption for himself and his fallen brothers and sisters.

A girl who was scattered through time and space to save a man who could save whole planets, and who wished to save the same Doctor again.

A detective, discredited by the whole world who sought the means to free himself and his friend as well as gain back the kind of illustrious reputation that made him a legend even as a fictional character in other universes.

And a hunter from a world owned more by the dead than the living who'd do anything to protect any kind of family he had left.

It wasn't their life stories but it at least taught them one thing.

They were all fighting for someone else. Also, according to the way they seemed to see the world, they had a penchant for helping strangers no matter their background. That made it easy to agree.

"So no matter what happens," Clara said. "We make sure what was promised to our worlds, if we can't make it, still happens."

"Agreed," Castiel said. "But I still think that there might be something that we can do by working together."

"No doubt," Sherlock acknowledged. "I manage to work wonders with my mind alone, I can only imagine the type of damage I could do with your help. This operation reeks of trouble, absolutely infested with danger, and I think we need to consider Gary and Mary a potential problem."

"Already considered," Daryl said. "Tell you what, you find a way to take them out, you let me know first."

"Working to save the universe and kill wannabe gods," Sherlock said with a grin. "So there are perks to exile after all."

"Okay then," Clara said. "I'm glad to see we're all bonding. Though the way we're bonding shows we might some immensely psychological issues, at least it'll work. But should we really be talking about this while under surveillance?"

"Clara, I'm surprised at you," Sherlock said. "You're far too brilliant to think something so stupid."

Clara didn't know whether to be complemented or insulted and simply settled on glaring.

"Gary and Mary have joyfully demonstrated their talent for reading our thoughts," Sherlock explained while he eyed the ceiling. "They knew we were suspicious from the first minute we met. This just helps us understand the playing field."

Gary and Mary were watching but they weren't as amused as before.

"Well, Mary, they're not at each other's throats." Gary said while they looked at various monitors.

"I fear we did too good a job of antagonizing them," Mary said. "And here I hoped to make them dance about, work them against each other."

"Well that ship sailed," Gary muttered. "They hate us too much to hate each other."

"Indeed," Mary said. "All of our roles in the multiverse of fiction, fulfilling so many wishes, and yet we don't know how to be human."

"I propose we stop pretending to be something we're not then and start doing what we do best," Mary said with a murderous smile. "We meddle."

Gary grinned at his partner's words, as well as the plans rolling through her mind. They'd have to shake things up a bit more, to spoil what was starting to settle, but the result would be the same.

Gary Stu and Mary Sue, the proxies, would have their victory.


	6. The Mission

Gary and Mary transported the four heroes into an all blue room with a large green table in the middle.

"No windows or doors again," Holmes muttered, "I'm beginning to sense a pattern with you two. And you couldn't bother to bring out any chairs?"

"You'll want to be standing with what you're about to hear," Gary said. "All of you."

Gary looked to Mary and nodded. Mary responded by placing her hand on the table. The instant she did so, the surface of the table changed. Waves of emerald blocks bubbled on the surface. The blocks slowly shaped themselves into massive dome surrounding a city in ruins with toppled towers and shatter homes.

"This is the City of Gallenten," Mary explained. "It used to be one of the finest medical facilities in any universe. As you can tell from the diagram the city has seen better days. The facility however, the large dome in the center, is still operational."

"Someone has broken in," Holmes deduced. "It never pays to keep your doors unlocked after all. Though, judging from the damage to the surrounding area, there weren't many people to do much of anything."

"Do you have to be so smug?" Clara asked.

"Only when I'm right." Holmes said. "It's not my fault it just happens to be all the time."

Clara rolled her eyes at the comment while following Castiel's example of leaning in to get a closer look at the diagram. Daryl was busy trying to see if the image was really part of the table by poking at the table and the diagram. He surprised to see it was real and stopped poking it when he noticed how everyone's eyes were on him.

"The dome seems to be intact." Castiel concluded.

"And operational," Gary added." Someone has broken into the facility and could be producing any number of nightmarish devices even as we speak."

"What sort of diabolical methods could be achieved at a medical facility?" Clara asked.

"Everything from producing a plague to creating a biological army of zombies similar to the ones witnessed in your dimension, Daryl." Mary said. "They could produce billions within an hour.

Daryl's eyes glazed over the horrific idea of an army of Walkers. With so many, there'd be no chance for anyone. The hunter realized the tragic horror that might be happening.

"Whoever's in there is trying to spread a plague of Walkers!?" Daryl screamed.

"That is one possible use of the facility," Mary said. "The facility has the technology to spread just about anything to every dimension, including all of yours."

The four heroes realized what was at stake now. Each of them had faced extreme odds but the kind of madness this facility could achieve was too nightmarish to comprehend. Ultimately, they all came to the same disturbing conclusion. If anything got out of that facility, nothing would survive.

"We need to destroy it." Clara stated.

"For once we agree," Holmes said. "However we need to a find a way inside. I don't suppose either of you two are capable or willing to get us at the self-destruct button?"

"No such button exists," Gary said. "Besides, the technology in that facility is enough to destroy even us. And before you start drooling, Daryl, by the time you have the weapon you'd desire, everything would be lost."

"So why bring us in if you're too chicken to do it yourself," Daryl asked. "Odds are anything that could kill you could kill us faster."

"And even I wouldn't know where to begin to destroy such a building." Holmes muttered.

"There's no avoiding it," Castiel said. "No matter what you promised us, no matter the threat, we deserve one simple answer. Why us?"

Gary and Mary looked at each other, wondering how to explain. Or at least explain what they wanted to let the heroes know. After passing along ideas mentally so that the heroes were oblivious, the pair turned to look at the group with their cold smiles.

"You're survivors," Mary stated proudly. "Each of you has endured more than most and yet still continue to fight when by all right you deserve to rest in peace. It is that tenacity and instinct for survival that we lack which makes you the perfect candidates for this mission."

"And don't worry," Gary said. "While we personally can't get near the facility, we can show you a way inside."

A bright blue dot appeared on the table among the emerald ruins.

"We can teleport you to be at least two miles from the complex." Gary explained. "Once there, you must make your way down to the sewer, there is a tunnel that leads right into the lower levels of the dome."

The blue dot became a line as it moved along the table. The diagram rose up to allow a sewer tunnel to be displayed. The line stop once it was directly beneath the dome.

"The security in the facility is very efficient and would quick work of any of you, even Castiel." Mary said. "Your first task once inside is to disable the security system. That will make the automated defenses not tear you to shred. The next thing you shall do is overload the generators that power the machines in the facility."

The line split into four different lines. One went to the center of the facility, the dome grew less radiant once it reached its destination. The remained three moved about the facility with red dots showing generators that needed to be overloaded.

"Once that's complete, well, I assume you all can jog decently." Mary said,

The dome grew so bright that the heroes had to avert their eyes. Once the light dimmed, the group managed to look at the table. There were only a few bits of building left on an otherwise desolate surface.

"And how do you suggest we jog away from a nuclear explosion?" Holmes snarled.

"Not necessary," Gary said. "Once outside the dome, we can pick you up. Once the dome is gone, you can congratulate yourselves on saving all of existence."

Gary and Mary left them in the blue room, with the diagram of the dome still standing on the table.

The group had thirty minutes to prepare for what would probably be the deadliest adventure any of them had ever gone on alone let alone in such a bizarre group. The group asked for weapons but Gary and Mary said that the only weapons that do any amount of good were within the dome, thus beyond their reach. This forced to group to rely on their semi-steady alliance and whatever skills that they had brought with them. It didn't hurt to have an angel on their side.

Gary and Mary returned, asking if the group was ready. Everyone agreed. The two suited strangers smiled and told the group to hold still. They held up their hands and an instant later, the group felt something pulse into their minds.

"We just gave you a layout of the plans and some knowledge that might come in handy." Gary said.

"Be mindful of the man inside the facility," Mary said. "He'd figured out the means of manipulating every aspect of the dome. Expect trouble. The Machinist is not someone to take lightly."

With that said the group vanished in a blast of light.

Their adventure had officially begun.


	7. The Dome

The four heroes arrived.

The instant their feet touched the ground, they heard the alarms. The decrepit buildings surrounding them in the alley shook, showering them in dust.

"Surface, thermal, and possible satellite surveillance," Holmes muttered. "You'd think we were expected."

Clara was covering her ears, trying to block out the maddening noise. Castiel stood with a vacant stare in his eyes, seemingly ignorant to it all. Daryl, however, busied himself with pressing his ear to a wall in the alley.

His eyes went wide.

"Down!" Daryl screamed.

Daryl, Clara, and Holmes dropped to the ground. Green energy blasts tore through the walls, leaving car-sized chunks of singed brick and fire. Castiel stood through the bombardment, only blinking once.

"We need to move." Castiel said.

"Like Hell," Daryl said. "We go into the open and we're fried."

"We need to find the sewer opening," Clara said. "According to that map in our heads, I think we need to move a block in the direction we were being shot from."

"Oh, is that all," Holmes asked sarcastically. "Brilliant, Clara, I don't suppose your ingenious awareness would help get us to said opening. Perhaps if we close our eyes and make a wish the lasers won't hurt us."

Clara didn't try to justify the detective's attitude as she instead focused on finding some way around the lasers. As she stood contemplating the situation, thankful for the silence, she realized the obvious.

The alarms had stopped blaring and there were no more blasts of laser fire.

"The security system doesn't know we're still alive," Clara said excitedly. "We'd be nothing but dust otherwise. I bet it could only sense the teleport; we're invisible."

"She's got a point," Daryl said. "That kind of firepower is made to stop only when something is good and dead."

"Which is what we'll be if we go in the open!" Sherlock snarled.

"So we won't go into the open," Clara said as she eyed the holes in the walls. "I say we make some house calls, clever boys."

Clara didn't bother to wait for permission or for someone, probably Sherlock to dismiss the idea as she climbed into the building through the opening in the wall. The others waited several seconds to see if there was retaliatory fire. Silence proved Clara's theory correct and the others quickly climbed through the hole as well.

The group proceeded carefully, making sure not to stray towards the windows that lead into the open street. Castiel had considered teleporting them closer but knew better since the Dome's security might detect him and so he was forced to do more climbing and walking than he usually preferred, it made him feel too… human. He wondered if Dean drove everywhere just because it saved him from walking, Castiel wouldn't blame him.

After moving in and out of decadent buildings as well as narrow alleyways, the group finally reached their destination. They had to duck down, the dome was close and the impact from the security was more extensive. They could see the hint of a large emerald structure that was smooth and polished which made it even more foreign to the group considering the devastation that surrounded them. In the distance, they could see the manhole cover, right in the center where there was enough opportunities to shoot them down that it was practically a shooting gallery.

"I don't suppose any of us want to draw straws?" Daryl asked skeptically. "It's a long way to run even without the need to pull the cover up."

"Straws are not necessary," Castiel declared. "Just give me some space."

The others did as the angel asked, wondering what matter of skill this mysterious stranger had. Castiel didn't disappoint; he raised his hand and it began to give off a faint glow. The angel considered the fact any major spark of power draw security but he found a way to take advantage of this,

An orb of light formed above the manhole cover, creating a bright circular outline around the cover. With a swirl of power, the cover burst into the air. The manhole cover was knocked out of the air by thousands of lasers. Fortunately they concentrated their fire on the orb which which grew larger to grab security's attention even more. It flew into the air so high that group could only hear the lasers.

"Move. Now." Castiel said.

The group didn't need to think twice; they rapidly but carefully bolted for the opening. Sherlock was the first to make it, smoothly sliding into the darkness. Daryl was the second, after searching around and ducking several laser shots. Security was getting wise to their tactics, especially who made the orb.

Clara saw the barrage of fire power slowly shift down towards Castiel. It was moving too fast and the angel was too preoccupied with the distraction to notice. Seeing as how she couldn't speak the words in time, Clara simply charged forward and tackled Castiel out of the way, the lasers just missing her head. Castiel was able to send a wave of energy that knocked the lasers away, giving him and Clara a window to get down into the opening. The lasers fire several more shots at the ladder rungs that were still in the light and ceased firing.

There was no need for firepower anymore.

The opening was a lot wider than any of them realized, large enough for company. A massive beast of creature with stone grey flesh, seven-tall, and blood red eyes that burned in the weak light from the overhead lamps. It swung punching bag-sized arms with bone shattering force. Sherlock and Daryl were doing their best to dodge it but the creature's speed made it impossible to do much else.

The creature narrowed it eyes as it saw Castiel. It unhinged its jaws and something bright built up from its throat. Clara and even Castiel widened their eyes as a rush of fire shot out of the mouth of the beast. The tow ducked the inferno of death while Daryl fired arrows that shattered on the creature's flesh. Sherlock stayed as close to the wall as possible but he wasn't cowering, he was observing. He forced himself to overlook the ludicrous elements and focus on the facts: uncontrollable beast, a failed experiment that was forcefully created considering the well-placed needle marks only gained from a restrained victim, invulnerable and incredibly dense skin. The one thing that seemed obviously vulnerable was also the only thing unique besides the fire breath which was irrelevant to Sherlock's deduction.

"The eyes," Sherlock shouted. "Go for the eyes!" He then ducked a swing at his head that smashed into the wall.

Clara remembered she had the knife Daryl gave her and that gave her an idea. She whistled which made the creature turned to look at the brave girl. She swallowed the raw fear boiling inside her and threw the knife. It twirled through the air and struck the creature in the eye. The monster howled in confusion as black blood poured down its face. Daryl rushed over to Clara's side and fired an arrow which struck the remaining eye.

Castiel moved forward before anyone could shout a command or protest them move. The creature, now blind, viciously swing its fists, hoping to hit the intruders. The angel dodged both fists, moving closer with each step. Instinctively realizing an intruder was beneath It, the creature looked down as fire prepped to burn Castiel to a cinder. But the angel was faster.

A hand on the grey chest and the creature froze up. The fire trapped in its throat, creating a orange glow in the angel's hair. Castiel pushed his hand forward and the creature fell on its back. The fight was done.

"Is that it?" Daryl asked kicking the creature while eyeing the rest of the corridor.

"Most likely," Sherlock said. "No one expected the jolly grey giant to run into an angel."

"What is it?" Clara asked while looking at the needle marks.

"I assume it's a failed experiment or a successful experiment depending on whoever made it. Just one of the horrific possibilities awaiting us within those walls. Shall we get on with the horror show?"

Sherlock turned his back on the group and made his way down the tunnel. Clara wished she say something, anything, to make this once-fictional character get over himself for one iota of a second, but there were some things that mortals are simply not capable of. Clara, Daryl, and Castiel decided that the best option was to move forward.

It was time to face the Dome.


	8. Time to Split

Despite the menacing appearance outside, the inside of the Dome was surprisingly sterile. White tile walls that curved into the floor and ceiling which had a different impression on each of the group.

For Castiel, it was Heaven's war bunker that the angels had used during the fall of Lucifer.

For Clara, it was any other space ship of the future she be exploring with her clever Doctor.

For Sherlock, it was the Baskerville scientific facility minus John.

For Daryl, it was the lab where the group had been given a chance to escape the madness in the worst of ways but had chosen to stay.

Ultimately, it represented a simpler time for all of them where the troubles and concerns that have come to the surface were nonexistent.

Their actions here might be able to not only help them save everything but maybe get back that simpler insanity that they had called their own.

"I don't see any directions posted but I don't feel lost either." Clara said as she tried to pull herself back to reality.

"Same here," Sherlock said. "That map in our heads apparently made sure we can't be lost inside the facility."

"The three generators and the security center are all nearby," Castiel said. "I can't sense any other threats."

"And I can't sense the armory," Daryl muttered. "Figures that those two freaks would keep that off the map."

"Weapons or not it seems like everything is spread too far apart." Sherlock said.

"We should split up."

The men looked at Clara wondering if she was serious about her suggestion, her eyes shined with conviction.

"Are you more mental than usual," Sherlock snarled. "We don't know the first thing about this facility and you want to split up and lessen our strength?"

"At least split into two teams," Clara said. "Castiel and Daryl, you can go destroy the generators, Sherlock and I can take down the security."

"Even if we were humoring the possibility of splittin' up, why would you want to be with Him?" Daryl asked pointing at Sherlock.

"I don't like it either, but Sherlock's the brightest person. The security center has probably got some kind of security as well. Sherlock's the brightest there is when it comes to getting around obstacles, at least if there stories true. Also, if there are guards, you two need to draw their attention. If any of you have a better plan, please share." Clara put her hands on her hips to let her statement have more authority and it seemed to work.

The group looked at one another, trying to figure out something anyhting that might make sense. Daryl had an idea.

"How about your magic, Cas," Daryl said while looking at the angel. "Cant you just beam to where we need to go. Hell, why not just pop all the generators and save us the trouble of running?"

Castiel blinked as he looked at Daryl; it was strange for the angel to hear his nickname from someone besides the Winchesters. It helped make him feel like his actions made a difference again, something that didn't change since he the gates had closed.

"I can't use my powers here," Castiel said after a moment. "This facility blocks my powers. I admit, I don't like Clara's plan but we don't have many choices. It's only a matter of time before the whole facility realizes we're here if they haven't already. We need to make our next moves count."

"We should stick together than," Daryl said while he clutched his crossbow tighter. "We stand a better chance together."

Clara shook her head, "That gives the enemy time to form up as well. We need to hit them when they don't expect it."

"Clara's correct." Sherlock said.

This made the group, especially Clara look at the detective in a new light.

"If there were a better plan that'd hit them where it where it needed to, I would have thought of it. Clara's idea is the best we have. If you want my advice here it is, let's stop chatting; we all know what to do. Let's crack on."

Sherlock moved beside Clara and Daryl shifted over to Castiel. The four people looked at each other. They were all strangers but there was no denying a level of respect. All of them knew how to honor a fellow comrade in arms that they could rely on. While they did not know what mysteries and horrors were on the horizon, they had strength through trust in one another's skills.

Like many times before on individual battlefields they all hoped it would be enough.

With a firm nod to each other the four split into two and went to save the universe.


	9. The Bond of Brothers and Hunters

Daryl had heard the saying of having an Angel on your shoulder but this was a step too far. Castiel was simply looking at him, not even down the various hallways. Daryl didn't mind gawking, but with Castiel it felt like he was being in inspected under a microscope.

"There something I can help you with?" Daryl asked when the look had gone on for long enough.

"I'm am unsure," Castiel said. "Why did you call me 'Cas'?"

Daryl looked away from the hallway, seeing the serious look in the angel's eyes almost made him luahg but he held back, barely.

"You serious?" Daryl asked, even though in the time that he's met Castiel he was willing to believe the angel hadn't even blinked. Seeing that Castiel wasn't leaving him alone until he answered, Daryl came up with the only thing that made sense.

"I guess 'cause it's easier," Daryl said with a shrug. "Don't you ever get tired of being called Castiel all the time."

"I don't understand how my name causes sleep," Castiel said. "And I don't sleep."

Daryl was beginning to think he teamed up with the wrong person. Castiel seemed to lack the people skills to even be called a poor conversationalist. But, Daryl had met worse and talking actually did feel good.

"Why do you ask?" Daryl said since the angel never seemed sentimental enough to appreciate how someone said his name.

"The way you said my name… it reminds me of two people I know."

"Friends from back home?"

"Yes," Castiel said with downcast eyes. "My only friends. But it seems that they only bring me… trouble."

"Well then they're family." Daryl said with a smirk. "Only family can piss each other off without fail."

"They don't make it easy." Castiel noted.

"Family rarely does." Daryl said as dark thoughts fit into his mind.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said. "I shouldn't have brought up something that reminded you of your brother."

Daryl's eyes widened and he barely stopped himself from firing an arrow at Castiel.

"The Hell do you know about my brother?" Daryl snarled.

"You even act like Dean when he's mad," Castiel said as he looked at Daryl with curious eyes. "I always thought he'd try to shoot me."

"Listen, I don't know this 'Dean' guy but I ain't him and I just might. So don't go talking about my brother."

Daryl started walking away from the angel. He knew they couldn't do anything as long as the supposed security systems were still operational but Castiel was bringing up Merle which meant Daryl wanted to be as far away from the angel was possible.

"It wasn't your fault he died."

Daryl had heard enough. He spun about to take a little bit off the ear. The angel proved to be faster by somehow being right behind Daryl as easily snatching the crossbow out of his hands.

"You shouldn't waste ammunition." Castiel said.

"Give it back!"

"Not until you calm down."

"My brother gave me that, it's all I got left from him."

"You have memories as well."

Daryl leaned and glared right into Castiel's eyes.

"The last memory I have of my brother is me having to kill him after he became a Walker. He was killed and not even given the decency of a proper kill. That's why he came back and all I could do was end him when I was too late to back him up in the first place. He'd be alive if I had been there."

"You don't know that."

"Well I sure as Hell know what happened cause I wasn't," Daryl growled. "Give it back. Now."

Castiel looked at Daryl, seeing more hurt than hatred in the survivor's eyes. The loss of family was equivalent to every failure a person's ever had in their life to Daryl. It was a feeling Castiel knew very well.

"At least you only let down one brother," Castiel said as he looked at the crossbow. "I failed all of my brothers and sisters. Tricked into locking us all out of Heaven. I know what it's like to feel abandoned or wishing you'd die right alongside those you care about, but the problem is that we're too lucky at surviving to get our punishment."

Daryl couldn't pretend to understand half of Castiel had muttered and from the sound of it, he was probably better off. What bothered him was the fact that Castiel carried a disturbingly familiar weight despite the difference in how big it was. Survivors guilt and survivors burden go hand in hand it seems.

"What about your two friends, do they still trust you?" Daryl asked.

"Possibly," Castiel said. "They've done dumber things."

"Hey, I don't think it's dumb to actually be around people who still give a damn about you, it's the only thing keep'n me alive these days."

"Feeling like they wouldn't make it five feet out the door even when you're not much stronger," Castiel said. "I think I can relate to that."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You look it."

A bittersweet smile crossed both Daryl and Castiel's faces. They weren't relieved of their burdens but they had found a common bond in seeing the other's troubles better. The hallway was still clear, but that could change at any moment.

"You'll need this." Castiel said as he handed Daryl back the crossbow.

"Well I'll need your angel mojo for whatever might be coming our way." Daryl said as he set an arrow.

"Of course, there was never any doubt of that."

Daryl rolled his and smirked as the two burdened warriors made their way down the hallway. They would face their troubles again once this was over but until then Sherlock and Clara were their main concern.

For better or worse, they'd always handle the weight no one else could.


	10. Always The Hit You Don't See Coming

Sherlock and Clara were getting along as they had for most their adventure, horribly. They knew they had enough intellect to make any sentence into verbal feud so they respectfully skulked about the compound in bitter silence. The security center they were meant to disable was not far away.

So far no guards and no cameras or other signs of security came their way. That didn't stop Sherlock was holding them up every few seconds to scan everything from the floor to the ceiling. Clara didn't mind except for the fact that he always made an effort to scoot her into a corner as though she disrupted his thought process by breathing.

"I don't believe the tiles are going to come to life and bite us." Clara said.

"You apparently travel through time and space and don't take precautions," Sherlock muttered while not taking his eyes off the ground. "I assume this Doctor you mentioned is the proper brains between you two."

"Excuse me," Clara growled. "I carry my own weight. Saving time and space is a group effort and while my Doctor is clever, he can be a bit clueless at times."

"Well he certainly has an interesting taste in colleagues."

"With that kind of attitude I wonder how anyone can work with you."

"A sentiment shared by the majority of Scotland Yard, my landlady, and my dear older brother." Sherlock muttered as he craned his head towards the ceiling.

"What about Watson?"

Very few things in the universe made Sherlock pause but very few people had the nerve to bring up John. The detective turned about gave Clara the rare sight of his full dark rage, the thing that proved that even though he was on the side of the angels he was not one of them. Even the usually calm and clever Clara was at a loss for words at the sight of the detective.

"Listen I di-"

"You don't speak until after I finish," Sherlock snarled.

Clara was silent and looked at the detective, for once willing to hear Sherlock out.

"Let me explain something that has escaped all of your grasps," Sherlock said. "I have heard and seen how you consistently gawk at me as though I jumped off ink-pressed words on a page. What was fiction for others has been Hell for me. I lost my good name and had to fake my own death just to keep people I care about safe; all of this was not entertaining for me and sickens me to believe it was entertainment for anyone else. Don't you dare speak about my life and my friends as though you actually know a single thing about me. What you've read was overzealous fiction of a man who is very real and suffered true agony. I couldn't even tell my only friend, John as you casually say his name, that I am alive even though the uncertainty is killing him. Not so appealing to see the hero is a victim, is it?"

He didn't care to hear a response, already trudging down the hallway. It was the first time in a deliberately long time that Sherlock had ever truly bothered to express himself emotionally. Intellect was his weapon but intellect was burned away at the idea of John being talked about as though he were as fictitious as Sherlock apparently was claimed to be. Even if they were fiction in some universes, they were real in his and that was the world Sherlock valued above all others. The sooner he completed this mission, the sooner he could get back to that same universe.

"It gets better for you."

Sherlock was not one violence even under the worse provocation but Miss Oswald was proving to be an above-average nuisance. He turned about and stomped towards her. He was impressed that she managed to stand her ground.

"Your tale doesn't end with Moriarty, you come back."

Those last three words made him stop. He looked at her, the rage just under the surface. Even though he didn't ask for an explanation, Clara gave one.

"It sounds different from the way I heard the tale. All I remember is it ended with you and Moriarty being pitched off a waterfall but that wasn't the end for you. You come back after stopping Moriarty's remaining assassins and take up cases again openly."

Clara seemed to truly regret hurting Sherlock, apparently now realizing that he is a human being whose had to just recently deal with the reality that his life was written for entertainment; it must have seemed like a cruel joke. Clara almost felt a tear form in her eyes at that kind of pain. But storytelling worked both ways.

"People don't view your stories as tragedies, Sherlock. You're a hero, considered the world's greatest detective. The very idea of being a good detective or holding a magnifying glass to the ground all come back to you. Almost no other individual, fictional or otherwise, can dare equal how you redefined how intellect can battle crime. It is an honor to work with the Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock was stunned. The words had a monotonous appraisal of his skills, and he assumed that he must have been successful to be so acknowledged. But to hear his name spoken with respect for the first time after his whole world played him up to be a joke, to truly have someone see him as the consultant detective was an amazing feeling. His eyes managed to get wet before they dried and he regained a mischievous grin.

"Thank you." Sherlock said.

"For what?" Clara asked surprised by the growing excitement in the detectives face.

"For reminding me to stop grieving over a death I never achieved." Sherlock said. "It seems I've grown far too used to being dead, rather boring actually. But here, here in this maddening landscape, I am alive, active, and therefore the case is as good as done."

Sherlock seemed to stand straighter, a weight seemingly crawling off his back with the weight of an elephant. Welcome back to the world of the living, Clara thought happily. The detective seemed to share her sentiments as his eyes shined with anticipation.

"Come along, Clara," Sherlock said excitedly. "We have a multiverse to save and I admire assistance on a case. By some miracle I will say you're still not as bad as Anderson."

The detective then confidently moved forward, no longer stopping to waste time searching for clues.

"He struts like the Doctor when he's happy." Clara muttered to herself with a grin as she followed the Detective.

The two arrived at what looked like a dead end until Clara noticed the electronic console in the corner. There were sixteen buttons on the device but no screen to register if someone were punching in the right code or not.

"Who would make something you can't even tell if you're using it right?" Clara asked.

"Someone who knows they could never get it wrong," Sherlock added as he inspected the device. "There's no alarm system connected they'd make it obvious for such an elaborate building built on ego, they always do. Which makes this a trap meant to make us waste our time until security can properly kill us."

"And how do we avoid such a charming fate?"

"By getting it right, of course, now please be silent while I enter my mind palace."

Clara tried to ask him if she had heard what she thought she had heard from Sherlock lips but the detective was practically a statue. Only his eyes burned with life as they performed all sorts of things that Clara couldn't bother to understand completely. However, this didn't feel like an obstacle as much as an opportunity to see the great detective at work.

Sherlock was frozen in place, eyes fixed on the device. Clara was almost tempted to poke him just to see if he was still on this plain of reality. She decided better though since failure might result in them all getting blown up. She even backed up, just in case intellect really is affected by personal space.

Finally the detective came up with a surprisingly obvious conclusion.

"I can't deduce the combination."

Clara's heart sank at the revelation.

"However, I'm looking at this facility and notice that it is surprisingly vacant. No one comes here often which means that there would be less precautions since there's lack of guard shifts. Which should include among other things the combination. I wonder…"

Sherlock took something out from his pocket. It looked like a makeup kit with a brush and pad. But Clara was beginning to see what the detective was up to.

Carefully dusting off the fingerprints both Clara and Sherlock were amazed to find actual fingerprints. Nearly every button was used in the combination.

"Well that doesn't help things." Clara noted.

"You see but you don't observe," Sherlock said. "Look closer."

Clara leaned in and saw that the black powder had settled into into fingerprints but some were clearer than others.

"The oil that creates a fingerprint fades overtime," Sherlock explained. "This combination was meant to drag out as much time as possible but there is a clear sequence. The ones that are more crisp came later while the ones that are blurred came first."

"So it's just matter of connecting the dots." Clara said.

"And just as simple, all I have to do is follow the path."

Sherlock proceeded with what he preached and rhythmically pressed every other button with incredible speed. Clara could barely discern some of the fingerprints but Sherlock saw the deeper signs of age in the marks. He cracked the code in less than a minute: a little slow for his liking but he was out of practice.

The panel beside the console slid away. Inside was a series of wires, buttons and screens that displayed the entire facility. No one was inside however. It seemed odd to both Clara and Sherlock. After exchanging a glance the two carefully walked into the room. Everything was built into the walls and the room lit up when they entered making it even clearer that they were alone. A series of buttons and knobs were beneath the monitors. They couldn't understand the words beneath the devices but the alien languages began to resemble the English language.

"It must change to fit the facilitator's needs," Sherlock deduced. "Making everything nice and boringly predictable for everyone and robbing us of any need for actual effort, that's technology for you."

"I know what you mean, I prefer being hands on with problems too." Clara said. "You wouldn't happen to see the off switch would you?"

Sherlock looked at every switch and button until he nodded. Then with several slight adjustments the sound of something dying down was heard. All the power was still on, but something definitely felt different.

"What just happened?" Clara said. "What did we just shut down?"

"Nothing."

Clara and Sherlock turned to see Mary standing in the security center.

"You just helped unlock the door."

Something was wrong. The suited woman and male colleague were lurid but now the woman's face was full of vicious malevolence. Sherlock realized their thoughts had crossed Mary's mind, which made her smile all the more menacingly.

They needed to get out of that control room.

"Run!" Sherlock screamed to Clara as he charged at the super woman.

Sherlock threw a worthless punch in the hope of catching Mary off guard. His fist hit empty air. Where was she? A small whistle made him turn around to see she had teleported behind him. She gave him a small wink before thrusting her palm onto his arm. Sherlock cried as bones shattered in his arm and he was sent flying down the hallway. He stumbled on the floor but remained alive just horrifically bruised.

The detective looked up and saw for the first time where Clara really stood compared to all of them. Sherlock rarely made mistakes but when he did, the results were never pleasant.

"Clara!" Sherlock screamed as he struggled to his feet, trying to reach the girl.

Clara ran for the door.

Mary waved her hand.

The door shut, cutting off her escape. She hit the door, fumbling for some kind of latch or button but found nothing.

"Sher-" Clara screamed before a hand clamped over her mouth.

Mary's other arm hooked around Clara's chest, pinning her arms to her side. The woman was impossibly strong but that didn't stop Clara from struggling, kicking, and giving off a stream of muffled cries for any of her team to help her. No one came.

"You're so weak, so noisy," Mary snarled into Clara's ear. "This I do on for everyone who's had to put up with you, you clever little worm."

Mary removed her hand from Clara's mouth. This allowed Clara to scream at the top of her lungs but the result wasn't any better. Her cry was cut off as Mary her finger into Clara's neck. Clara couldn't utter a sound, in fact she couldn't do much of anything. Her body seemed to be growing too heavy and sluggish to move. Her legs buckled, the only thing keeping her upright was Mary.

Mary turned to now limp Clara so they were facing the monitors. She tilted the girl's head so that she could look up at the screens. Clara could see her teammates, the hallways, and… oh god no…

"That's right Clara, Gary brought them in just help clean up the trash. We don't need your friends anymore. Don't worry, you're just going to sleep for a bit. I just decided to be thoughtful and make sure you realize just how dead your unofficial bodyguards are."

Clara couldn't make sense of a lot of what she was hearing. Her mind was drifting into darkness and she was finding it very hard to keep her eyes open. Before everything went dark, she kept her horror-filled eyes fixed on what was coming for her friends. Even though she couldn't hear them, something from the past echoed their nightmarish call.

EXTERMINATE, EXTERMINATE, EXTERMINATE!


	11. Run you clever boys RUN!

The whole facility seemed to power down. A grinding howl occurred that echoed like an animal that had been mortally wounded and left to die. Daryl felt like every sense of safety had left them inside the facility.

"What the Hell just happened?" Daryl asked while looking around.

"Another betrayal." Castiel answered halfheartedly.

Daryl turned to ask what the angel meant when they heard something shuffling towards them. They turned to see a badly injured Sherlock, limping while clutching his arm, and moving towards them at a speed that was agonizing from the look on his face. Daryl rushed forward and grabbed Sherlock just he looked like he was about to fall. Castiel was next to them a second later.

"Hold still." Castiel told the detective as he placed a hand on Sherlock's head.

The detective was instantly healed. Sherlock was surprised and spent a ten seconds confirming that his arm was truly, magically, better. Daryl helped pull him out of his confusion.

"What happened? Where's Clara?"

Hearing her name brought back the disturbing revelation.

"They took her," Sherlock said. "Mary snatched Clara after giving me a beating."

Daryl swore he'd find a way to make them pay a hundred times over while summoning every curse he knew in the English language to describe the unpleasant tricksters. Once he calmed down, he turned to Castiel.

"What are you waiting for, Cas, go save her."

"I can't," Castiel said with a sigh. "It appears that my powers we're given to me by Gary and Mary which me-"

"Which means you're effectively useless. Brilliant." Sherlock muttered as he interrupted Castiel.

The angel was used to people doubting his abilities. But they all knew that every second they wasted arguing put Clara in more peril. The problem was that none of them could figure out the next more.

Unfortunately, Gary and Mary had supplied an unpleasant option for which had just rounded the corner.

Castiel sensed it first, not really sure what he was sensing. Daryl heard it and aimed his crossbow but found himself hesitating like the first time he ever saw a Walker. Even Sherlock stared at the thing with wide-eyed confusion.

There was moving trash can seemingly sliding across the floor. It had weird golden bumps along the body, a plunger (seriously), a knob looking device next to the plunger, and a dome with a thin flashlight that seemed to shine like a blue eye. It was absolutely the most ridiculous thing that Sherlock had ever set eyes on.

The detective almost moved closer to get a better look but the angel held a hand.

"Don't," Castiel said. "It's here to kill us."

"How's a moving trash can going to pull that off?" Daryl asked.

"By shooting us with its death ray." Castiel stated after reading the being's intentions.

Sherlock was almost going to laugh until he saw the stone-cold glare in the angel's eyes. There was nothing fun about the situation. Something seemed to surface inside Castiel at the sight of an actual threat.

"Stand back." Castiel commanded.

The detective hated to be ordered around but decided to make an exception in this case. This was the kind of thing he was never meant to face. Neither was Castiel, he deduced since the robot looked too alien, like something out of a science fiction tale.

Still it would be interesting to see how an angel faces an alien robot.

Castiel walked forward several feet and then stopped. The machine did the same, the 'eye' fixed on him. There were five feet of distance between them, like two cowboys at a shootout.

The machine was the first to speak.

"IDENTIFY YOURSELF!" The machine said in a screeching voice.

"I am Castiel," Castiel said standing a bit taller. "I am an angel of the Lord. Who are you?"

"DALEKS DO NOT TAKE ORDERS!"

"So you're called a Dalek." Castiel confirmed.

The Dalek was silent after the blunder.

"What is your purpose?" Castiel said.

"I WAS COMMANDED TO EXTERMINATE THE INTRUDERS WITHOUT MERCY, FULFILLING DALEK DIRECTIVE!"

"Fair enough," Castiel said while ignoring the incredulous looks Daryl and Sherlock gave him. "But before you try to exterminate us, I'd like some answers."

"YOU WOULD DARE SAY 'TRY'? DALEK'S ARE INCAPABLE OF FAILURE! THERE IS ONLY SUCCESS AND DESTRUCTION!"

The small knob on the Dalek seemed to light up at its words with a glow that radiated with death. Castiel was unaffected by the attack.

"If that is true then there's no reason not to answer my questions," Castiel said. "If you are incapable of error than we will dead anyway."

The Dalek was silent for a full minute before answering.

"SPEAK YOUR QUESTIONS!" the Dalek commanded.

"Who sent you?" Castiel said.

"THE ONE YOU CALL GARY, THE PROXY!"

The term didn't make sense to any of them but at least they had a term for Gary and Mary.

"Why have they sent you to kill us?" Castiel asked.

"YOU HAVE FULFILLED YOUR INITIAL PURPOSE, PROTECTION OF THE FEMALE! NOW EXTERMINATION IS ALL THAT IS REQUIRED OF YOU NOW!"

"What have you done with Clara?" Castiel said with a sudden burst of anger.

"THE FEMALE IS OF NO CONCERN TO YOU NOW!"

"You didn't answer my question." Castiel growled.

"INCORRECT," the Dalek said. "I SIMPLY FAILED TO GIVE A PREFERRED ANSWER. YOU HAVE FAILED YOUR OWN AGREEMENT BY ASKING MORE! QUESTIONS ARE FINISHED, AS ARE YOU! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!"

Daryl didn't wasting time waiting to see who'd shoot first and fired. The arrow flew past Castiel and right at the dalek. However, just as it was about to hit its target, something stranger happened. A small shimmering distortion radiated off the dalek. When the arrow hit the shimmering glow, it literally faded away as though it never existed in the first place. Both Sherlock and Daryl stared in perplexed horror at this strange power.

The Dalek wasn't as stunned. It turned and fired a bright green blast of energy right at Daryl. It was moving too fast for a human to dodge and Daryl knew it wouldn't miss. The hunter expected the worst but then a hand came between him and death.

Castiel caught the ray of death in the palm of his right hand. The scope on the Dalek's eye seemed to widen at the act. The angel looked at the energy and seemed to condense it into the size of a baseball. He then turned his gaze on the Dalek.

The Dalek scooted back a foot.

"IMPOSSIBLE! IMPOSSIBLE," the Dalek screeched. "DALEK TECHNOLOGY CANNOT BE STOPPED OR CONTAINED! WHAT ARE YOU?! EXPLAIN!" Sherlock and Daryl couldn't help but hear what sounded like fear in the Dalek's voice.

"I already told you," Castiel said. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Castiel raised the hand holding the death ray's energy. The Dalek prepped to fire as well but was too slow. The angel opened his hand wider and sent the energy back, laced with angelic light.

The Dalek didn't even have a chance to respond before it was obliterated, leaving nothing but broken machinery and weird, pale, organic matter. It seemed like the machine was either a hybrid of some other organism or had a small disturbing pilot. None of them knew which sounded more repulsive.

The group managed to pull themselves away from the disturbing sight to something more pressing.

"We've been played from the start!" Daryl shouted.

"I should have seen it coming," Sherlock said. "Of all of us, Clara had no real combat skills or tactics that enabled her to be on such a mission. We were meant to be protection until they could get inside and take her. But for what?"

"It might have something to do with time travel," Castiel noted. "But we don't have time to waste talking. Listen."

The two looked at the angel, then did as he said. After what he had pulled off, there was no doubt Castiel was their leader in this battlefield. And the battle was just beginning.

Down the hallway, they could chorus of 'EXTERMINATE' being bellowed by what sounded like twenty Daleks converging on their location.

"We need to move." Castiel said.

"Can't you just do that hand thing?" Daryl said while miming the way Castiel held up his hand.

"Too many," Castiel said. "I'd survive but you'd both most likely die before I made a dent and I can't seem to teleport. Run!" Castiel shouted with a surreal amount of emotion.

He then ran, his trench coat flowing behind him like a superhero cape. Daryl holstered his crossbow onto his back while Sherlock unbuttoned his own trench coat and the two sprinted after the angel. Castiel didn't seem very strong or muscular but he ran at the speed of an Olympic athlete. They had just reached the corner where they could turn just as the Daleks came into range.

A nightmarish chorus of buzzing erupted behind the three as they moved out of the way of multiple death rays. The lasers caused explosions all around the group but they pushed through the confusion and made it around the corner. Daryl stumbled and hit the wall from running too fast. He fell to the ground when he heard a door next to him open with a hiss.

The hiss wasn't from the door.

Daryl looked up in horror as Walkers poured through the door and many hands reached for him with ravenous hunger. Sherlock reached down and pulled Daryl out of their reach while Castiel raised his hand and closed the door with a grinding crunch. Pieces of Walkers and partial bodies clawed towards, them unable to feel anything but raw hunger. Another flash of light and the remaining parts were dead.

But the nightmare had just begun.

Several more doors opened up along the hallway, Walkers coming out of all of them. Daryl had never seen this many so close together since Atlanta. His crossbow was practically a toy in this situation. Even Sherlock was at a loss. He never believed in anything outside the rules of logic but that was because there was so little to understand.

The sound of the Daleks was getting louder, enemies were closing in on all sides with no prayer of escape.

Luckily for both of them, Castiel had actually dealt with worse problems on a daily basis thanks to the Winchesters.

"Stay close and follow me!" Castiel shouted as he raised both hands and let lose bursts of light.

Walkers in their path were obliterated while more piled through. Sherlock and Daryl maneuvered around the living cadavers that flailed about trying to spread the virus, claim a bit of flesh, or both. The hallway was getting littered with Walkers and it was impossible to determine which were killed and which were still moving. Castiel seemed to be at a loss. The buzzing returned.

The Daleks fired into the horde of Walkers, blasting through the undead with ease. They couldn't pinpoint their targets which forced them to fire on everything obscuring their vision and possibly hit their targets in the crossfire. The three men stayed low to the ground as the Walkers fell around them. While they were relieved to have escaped death by dismemberment, once the Walkers were cleared away, they were as good as dead by the death rays.

A ceiling panel crashed to the floor, crushing several Walkers in the process.

"Jump up here, idiots."

The three men looked up to see a pale face with bright orange hair calling out to them. Lasers soared through the air too quickly for them to properly make such a ludicrous attempt, but Castiel found a solution. The angel was feeling like his old self back during the better times, when his actions actually helped a situation.

Castiel stood and all twenty of the Daleks that he could see concentrated their fire on him. The angel raised his hands and swirled them around the lasers. He had twenty orbs of death floating around him. If they could see within the confines of the robots, they would see the pilot's gaze widen in horror. Castiel shifted his hands forward.

All twenty shots hit home and the Daleks blew up a second later. Not bothering to admire his handy work, Castiel turned around and grabbed Daryl and Sherlock by their clothes before throwing them up through the opening. The two men managed to scramble up into the opening which led somewhere unknown but hopefully better than this.

In the smoke caused by all the chaos of destroyed Walkers and Daleks, there was a silhouette of black angel wings that seemed to protrude from the angel's back. The sight caused the remaining Daleks and even some Walkers to stop and stare in wondrous horror at an entity that was truly beyond anything they had ever seen. Castiel pushed off from the ground and seemed to float into the opening.

The darkness shifted to a room.

Castiel looked down and saw that the opening from before was now gone. It was some form of teleportation, Castiel concluded, but it was different from his own method as well as Gary and Molly's trick even though it was similar to the latter. There was a lack of furniture but three of the walls were occupied by Sherlock, Daryl, and their phantom helper. They all reclined against the walls each of them deep in thought. The stranger was the first to acknowledge Castiel.

"And now the last of my would-be assassins has arrived, excellent."

Sherlock and Daryl turned and gave off a relieved sigh at seeing their comrade was safe. The angel couldn't decide if they could automatically trust their savior though, besides from the way he said they had apparently come to assassinate him. He wore black slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt that seemed to shine. While his attire was different, Castiel could sense a familiar aura to their recent traitors.

"We weren't sent here to kill you," Castiel said. "We were brought here to sa-"

"I know how they hooked you," the stranger interrupted Castiel. "It wouldn't be so clever if it was so obvious but considering the present company, I'm a bit surprised at how none of you considered foul play. Well at least we spoiled the game a little bit, for now." the man grimaced at those final words.

"Thank you for your assistance," Castiel said. "But please tell us who you are."

"Of course," the man said with a sigh. "As I just told your pals here, I am the Machinist, I invented this facility. Now if you'll all come closer I'm going to tell you how your actions helped bring about the destruction of everything."


End file.
